Pact Hate
by LastOfTheSummerWine
Summary: Megara Davies finds herself in the worst situation she can imagine: in Gryffindor House with a muggle born for a room mate. Suddenly, she finds the morals she's been raised with challenged, and two dumb boys throw her in with the last person she expects.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is a prequel story, of sorts, to the Marauder Era story. While I don't think that's it necessary, given my rough planning, to read this story before the other one, I thought since it is in the same world, it would be better to have the first part happen first. (Following this logic, though, the three stories that come before this should be posted first, but I'm still working on those and they don't really impact this particular story). This is the story of an original character, Megara Davies from the Marauder's Era and her friendship with Lily Evans. It will mostly span her first year, maybe the second one. (Yes, I know my time line is off by about ten years. It's sort of AU as well, since I'm playing a bit with events. Just a bit). I hope you like it.

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><p>SEPTEMBER 1981<p>

Of all the horrors she had to endure while attending school... _This _had to be one of them?

It was bad enough she would take classes with common-blooded wizards and witches, waiting for the mud-bloods to figure out magic while she knew everything. It was bad enough several of the Slytherin students were _not _pure-blood.

But this... this was her own personal hell.

Megara Davies stared around the Gryffindor dorm with distaste. The scarlet and gold hangings looked all wrong to her. The room was too warm—they were in one of the castle's many turrets. The moon was shining through the window.

Wrong, all wrong. She should not be able to see the moon, she should be cold right now. She should be in the dungeons, surrounded by green and silver. This was wrong, so wrong. She should be talking to her childhood friend, Faith Avery, as they got ready for bed.

Instead, she was glaring at everything she could see. None of the Gryffindor girls were pure-bloods. The red-head's comments at dinner made it clearly she was a mud-blood. The other two were most likely half-bloods. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was trapped with them for the next few months at the least.

She'd thrown a fit as soon as the Sorting Hat proclaimed her a Gryffindor. Dumbledore had silenced her with a few calm words and a look that said 'I-will-not-tolerate-this.' He reminded her the Sorting Hat was never wrong. She yelled some more before storming out of the Great Hall. Behind her, the Sorting continued. But Dumbledore followed her out and gave her some rubbish about everything happens for a reason.

It was hard not to listen to the headmaster, she found. Her parents—indeed, all pure-bloods—disliked Dumbledore for offering equality to all students, no matter what their blood, but she had been hypnotised by his twinkling blue eyes and the gentle way he spoke. She agreed to stay until Christmas, at which point she would either leave to Durmstrang or continue her education here.

Dumbledore had allowed her to write a letter to her parents about what happened before anyone else did. She knew they would be horrified and furious, but it was nothing to what she was feeling. She made sure they knew that in the letter. She didn't want this any more than they did.

The one consolation she had was that the Black heir, Sirius, was in Gryffindor too. She didn't get a chance to talk to him—he was joking around with James Potter all throughout dinner—but she resolved to try soon. James Potter came from a family of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, but as far as she knew, Sirius was the first Black to be sorted into a house other than Slytherin. Even his cousin, Andromeda, who only narrowly managed to dodge rumours about having a relationship with a mud-blood this past summer, was in Slytherin.

Megara sighed to herself. It wasn't calming her down, thinking daggers at everything in the room. The other girls weren't responding. The dark skinned girl was already in bed, and the other two were chatting quietly. It sounded like the brunette was telling the redhead about their world.

She scoffed. The mudblood would be attacked by the end of the week, no matter how much she knew about their world. It would take only a little research into her background. Nothing would save her. If it wasn't this week, it would just be the next. She wouldn't be able to escape for long.

Megara climbed into bed reluctantly. Maybe sleep would make the night go by faster. In the morning, she could sit with her friends at the Slytherin table. She would probably have classes with them. She could ignore her new house mates. All she had to do was hold until Christmas. Or maybe her parents would send her somewhere else immediately. That happy thought lulled her to sleep.

**000**

She woke at dawn. After making sure she was perfectly pressed and she had eyed her Gryffindor tie with the proper amount of distaste, she wandered into the common room.

It was worse down here. The fires were lit, even though it was September and still hot outside, and it made the room stifling. Everything was scarlet, with gold accents and chairs.

Two of those chairs were occupied. She recognised James Potter's untameable hair instantly. All the Potters had it. Judging by the shiny black hair and Potter's familiarity, the other boy was Sirius Black. They were bent over a piece of parchment, dressed in muggle clothing. She wrinkled her nose—the Blacks wouldn't know about or like that. As she approached them, she saw they were wearing almost identical smirks. She didn't think they were up to any good. But that didn't matter to her.

"Good morning, James, Sirius."

Since they were pure-bloods, she kept her tone polite. But there was no need to encourage familiarity—she wasn't going to be here that long—so she also kept her tone cool.

"Good morning, Davies." Potter said coldly. Not distantly, like she did, but rather like he didn't want to address her. Sirius repeated his friend's words, and although he was more jovial about it, he didn't appear to want to address her either.

She understood it in James' case—his parents supported muggle rights and all that rubbish—but she was put off in Sirius' case. She didn't show it. She learned from a young age how to hide emotions.

"May I speak to you, Sirius?"

"Suppose so," he said hesitantly, looking to James.

James shrugged but there was a suspicious look in his eyes. "I could use a little more sleep." He picked up the parchment and left.

Megara gracefully folded herself in the newly vacated chair. "I wanted to speak to you about our situation."

"Our situation?" His brow furrowed. The confusion made her pause.

"Yes. Neither of us were sorted into Slytherin."

The confusion began to ease into understanding, but he did not look happy, which didn't look promising to her. "And what did you have to say about it?"

"Surely you can't be happy with—"

"Let's not make assumptions, Davies."

Thrown by the coldly-spoken sentiment, she gaped in a very unladylike fashion for several moments. His pale blue-grey eyes were icy, and it chilled her to the bone. "Um... You're happy here?" She blurted out as his words settled into her mind. Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued, "But there are so many _mud-bloods _around. How can you be happy around this blasphemy?"

"Maybe I don't consider it blasphemy?" His voice had lost some of the coldness, but the harshness remained. It seemed more like anger to her.

She gaped again but quickly composed herself. "I apologise. You're right, of course, I shouldn't make assumptions. But you were raised as I was, and I can't understand why—why you aren't feeling what I'm feeling."

His face was guarded and cautious. Slowly, it softened and he sighed. "I didn't have quite the same upbringing as you, Davies. My uncle married a half-blood—I'm sure you know that, us pure-bloods are a gossipy bunch—and he didn't believe much in blood. And I spent a lot of time with him growing up. It's not like mummy and daddy could be bothered to spend time with me."

The bitterness, while concealed, was still sharp. It cut through her painfully; he was too young to feel like that deeply. Or maybe he was too immature to understand. One day, would he understand that no one spent time with anyone? One day, would he understand his parents were doing him a favour by treating him that way?

"But I bet you know all about that, Davies. Your parents told you lots of lies to end your tantrums. They told you it was for the best, that no one was going to pay much attention to you as you got older. No one would want to take care of you. Maybe that's true. Maybe it's not. But what it comes down to is how much they care, and even you, Davies, can't say that mummy and daddy love you."

His voice was soft but somehow threatening. Her skin was ice cold, even though the rising sun made the room warmer. She sat, paralysed, trying to think of something to say. Of course her parents loved her. Right? Hadn't they... They...

She jumped up. "You're wrong!"

Heat flooded her face at her immature and much too vehement response. Sirius laughed lowly, and the heat swirled away from her. He was so _bitter_. So hateful. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to match this caustic boy with the one who had been laughing not ten minutes ago. She couldn't do it. The boy who had been laughing looked light and untroubled. This boy was dark. Biting.

A laugh echoed through the room. Her eyes flew open at the untroubled sound.

Sirius' face was much more boyish when not sharpened by pain. He grinned at her apologetically. "I'm sorry, Davies. Didn't mean for it to get so heavy." He jumped up, the sudden movement startling her, and tugged his grin into a neutral expression. "Megan, right?"

"Megara," she corrected. Her voice came out as breathless. The shock hadn't left her yet.

"Megara," he said calmly. "If you're looking for someone to share the...disappointment with, I'm not your man. I don't give a damn about blood. In the end, it's the same—we're witches and wizards. We can do magic. My parents are gonna hate me for this—but what can they do? It's just a house. It won't matter outside this castle or the pure-blood world. Why should it matter to me?"

"It's the rest of your life, Black!" She shrieked. "You'll be in this castle for the next seven years. During the summers you'll be at your family's house. After that, you'll be—"

"It'll be hard to leave my family," he interrupted. "But I'm not sure what I think about the after school part."

"You're insane." Her voice is a sharp contrast to her last words. She spoke softly, the only fervour in the words the fervour of conviction. He was crazy. He wouldn't be able to leave. Why would he anyway? Every door would be open for him. He would live in comfort and luxury.

"Probably." He grinned boyishly. "But you're not finding a friend in me, Davies, if that's what you want. I can't really sympathise with you. And I can't say I'm sorry. But I can wish you the best of luck. So... if that's all..."

She nodded slowly. Her heart was pounding in her chest from what felt suspiciously like fear. He started walking back up the stairs towards his dorm. "Wait!"

He turned back to her. "What?" His voice was edging towards unfriendly.

"What's wrong—" She choked on the words she was about to say. "What is wrong with our—my world?"

"Besides the emotional distance, the arrogance, that superior feeling, the hypocrisy, the corruption, and the cruelty they show everything?" The bitterness was back in full force. "If you believe in that, that's fine, but I wouldn't want someone telling me who to like and hate. I think I should be able to decide that for myself, don't you?"

He left abruptly, not waiting to see if she had more questions. Not that she did. No, he answered the main one—was he crazy?

And yes, yes he was. She believed he would give up everything he had—riches, opportunity, power—for something he would tire of eventually. She sighed deeply and sunk into the chair, dimly aware of footsteps on the staircases. Breakfast would be starting soon, and some of the more responsible students were getting back into the patterns of school. She rose slowly and walked past them.

Her conversation with Sirius had disturbed her on some level, but the lessons her parents had given her made her brush them aside as she stalked down the hall, ignoring the grumbled complaints from the students she pushed in front of. If Black was stupid enough to not realise what he had, then she would treat him like any other mud-blood loving pure-blood. She would pretend he didn't exist. It should be simple enough. From the look in his eyes, Sirius Black wasn't much more fond of her than she was of him.

Faith Avery was already at the Slytherin table with Marie Rosier. Megara walked towards them, not even glancing at the Gryffindor table. "Good morning."

Faith scrunched up her nose in a way that would earn her a scolding at home. "Good morning, Gryffindor."

"It's so good to see you. It's dreadful in that house."

"It's your house now, Megara," Marie said pointedly.

She scoffed. "You know there's a mud-blood in the dorm? It won't be my house _ever_. I told Dumbledore I would wait until Christmas to make a decision to leave, but my parents wouldn't possibly stand for it. They'll take me out and send me to Durmstrang by nightfall."

Faith rolled her eyes. It seemed she was using the three thousand mile distance from her parents to break all the etiquette rules. "They don't accept women."

"My father is a strong supporter of Durmstrang. He'll be able to get me in."

Faith rolled her eyes again. "Is there really a mud-blood in the dorm?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I don't know her name, of course," Megara said, dropping some food on her plate. "But she's a redhead."

Faith absorbed this with no expression. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't turn into a mud-blood lover over night. I was worried."

"I was horrified."

"I'm sorry."

There's nothing sincere in Faith's words, but Megara accepted them nonetheless. Marie leaned forward from where she sat across the table. "What about Sirius Black? Is he a mud-blood lover over night?"

"He's happy to be in Gryffindor," Megara said, confusion and revulsion warring in her voice.

Faith echoed her tone in her expression. Marie gasped. "He's _what?_"

"He's happy. I don't understand how he can be. But at least James Potter is with him. I have nobody. I'm going to die. I'd rather sleep in the forest."

"Is it that bad?"

"Of course it's that bad, Marie," Faith interjected. "Does Sirius' family know he's in Gryffindor?"

"His cousin Bellatrix looked angry. Surely, she already sent a letter," Megara reasoned.

"That's so strange," Marie said. "Two all-Slytherin families produce a Gryffindor each in the same year."

"Please, do _not _put me in the same category as Sirius Black."

"It's just strange."

It may have been strange to Marie, but to Megara, it was an ordeal she didn't want to handle.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I am truly sorry for the wait. I got very into writing the Marauders' seventh year story before realising I couldn't go any further until I finished this one.

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><p>Sure enough, Bellatrix Black sent a letter to her aunt and uncle. Two majestic owls swooped down on Sirius when the mail came. Megara had been forced by one of the professors to the Gryffindor table if she wanted to keep eating, so she watched Sirius with unabashed glee, having nothing else to do and hoping there was a nasty letter involved. Sirius wasn't nearly as gleeful, which also raised her hopes.<p>

"What's it say?" James asked, leaning over his friend's shoulder.

Sirius snorted. "I'm a disappointment, apparently." He glanced up to her. "Aren't I, Davies?"

The bitterness again. She forced herself to be calm. Levelling a haughty look at him, she snatched her own letter from her parents. After a few seconds, his smile was the only response to her glare, so she turned her attention to her letter.

_'Megara,_

_I am sorely disappointed your inability to be sorted into the proper house. But the Sorting Hat and that old fool will not change their minds. Your father is trying to find a suitable school for you to attend in the place of Hogwarts. Durmstrang Institute will not take you at this time, which is just as well, since it is not a good school. If we cannot find a proper school, I suppose we will have you tutored at home._

_Make the family proud._

_Nathalie Grace Davies'_

She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket.

She was relieved, in a way, for Durmstrang was not her first choice of school. Spending all her time with boys wasn't something she was sure she could handle. Beauxbatons was also out of the question—blood meant little there. Anything in the United States was also out of the question, and her mother would never send her as far away as Brazil. She didn't know what other school were in the world, if there even were any.

"What do the letters say?" She heard. She looked up to see a lanky boy with brown hair peering over Sirius' shoulder as he sat.

"One's from my parents, and the other is from my aunt and uncle. _They're _proud of me."

Megara looked back down quickly as Sirius turned his head. It took a few minutes for her to understand what he was talking about. His uncle married a half-blood, and their daughter was sorted into Ravenclaw, her mother's house, last night. Ravenclaw was probably a better house to the Black family than Gryffindor, but Gryffindor would be just fine to someone who didn't care so much about houses.

Someone who's adoration was purely unconditional.

Startled by her own reasoning, she jumped up and strode quickly out of the hall, her heart pounding worriedly in her chest.

**000**

Narcissa was the only Black to be sorted into Slytherin the night before. Narcissa looked a lot like Marie Rosier, who was her third cousin. Long golden hair, pure blue eyes, and artfully sculpted delicate features.

Narcissa was Megara's partner for their Charms lesson just after breakfast. They made no move to speak to each other, but Sirius would lean forward every so often from his seat right behind them and pull on Narcissa's braid. Megara thought the behaviour childish and Narcissa's reaction to her cousin's immature teasing surprising. Although by the end of the lesson he had completely ruined her hair, she only laughed and undid the braid, kissing his cheek before dancing off to her next class.

Megara spent all of Defence Against the Dark Arts wondering if Narcissa truly held no resentment to her cousin for his new house. Luckily, she got a chance to ask during Potions after lunch. Professor Slughorn talked jovially for thirty minutes to the entire class then went about talking to individuals. Narcissa was seated behind her, flipping through her potions book without expression.

"Narcissa?"

The blonde glanced up. Her face went to surprise immediately before settling into the carefully polite façade all pure-bloods practised.

"Yes?"

"How are you enjoying your classes so far?"

"They're excellent. And your classes?"

"Excellent as well."

It was expected, this sort of useless drivel before a real conversation. Megara didn't know how to broach the subject without offending her first, so she stayed with the chosen topic.

"Do we have any more classes with our...your house?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed slightly. It looked odd on her childish, innocent face. Megara's slip had alerted her of the reason behind the conversation. Narcissa, though, chose to answer the question as if she hadn't heard the slip.

"I wouldn't know. Shall we compare schedules?"

Slughorn was chattering on to Timothy Knott as they placed their schedules side by side for comparison. Astronomy was the only other class they had together. Megara couldn't fathom why she felt so disappointed by this. Evidently, it showed on her face, because the next thing out of Narcissa's mouth was, "Are you missing Slytherin house?"

"No," she sniffed, angrily stuffing her schedule back in her bag. Narcissa was staring at her with amused tolerance. Like she was a child throwing a tantrum.

"May I ask you something personal?" Megara began slowly, willing the vestiges of her irrational anger to be leave her completely.

"If you must."

"How does it feel with Sirius in another house?"

Narcissa raised her eyebrow. Traces of aggravation started to line her face.

Megara backtracked, trying not to offend her. "I only mean—You must have assumed that Sirius would be with you. Isn't it...strange...not to have him there with the rest of the family?"

The aggravation did not lessen on the other girl's face, nor did it deepen. Megara took this as a good sign.

"I suppose it is strange," Narcissa said slowly. "But Sirius has always been different, and it's not as big of a shock as...most people would assume." She paused. "May _I _ask _you _a question?"

"Of course."

"Are you upset you don't have an ally?"

"I am somewhat upset that... he doesn't seem bothered by his placement," she said carefully.

Narcissa took a deep breath. "My cousin is only himself. He refuses to be bound by rules and restrictions. Trying to force them on him won't end well for anyone involved."

"I'm not trying to—"

"Good. Don't start. I'll keep this conversation quiet, but I wouldn't go asking around if I were you. Sirius won't like that."

**000**

Megara opted to take Narcissa's words to heart. There was no reason to anger Sirius. It had been mainly curiosity that pushed to ask in the first place. The Black family was notorious for their tempers, and she hadn't been planning on making friends with Sirius.

With that resolved, she was free to worry about everything else. Namely, her parents' reaction. She didn't particularly want to be tutored at home; the lessons would undoubtedly be similar to the ones she received since birth—how to behave at a ball, how to be a proper upper class pure-blood wife, how to write thank you notes. Things she would use in her life. But she wanted to learn magic. She wouldn't need it once she graduated; house elves would do the cooking and cleaning, and she couldn't think of a time she might be forced to use magic, but she wanted to be able to do magic anyway. It wouldn't do for the redhead mud-blood to be able to perform spells while she couldn't.

When classes were over, she would send a letter to her parents. Tell them she wanted to finish her first year. Basic spells, at the very least, would be better than nothing. She could avoid her house mates for the most part. Faith and Marie would spend time with her whenever she could. It put her at ease to learn her friends were willing to accept her still. It would make the coming onslaught of Slytherin jeers easier to bear.

Megara could hardly believe it when Cecilia Rookwood tripped her in the corridor earlier. Cecilia had been very kind to her this past summer, promising to show her around Hogwarts and teach her hexes to throw at mud-bloods. All those promised faded in light of her Sorting. Gryffindors, Cecilia said loudly in her high-pitched voice as she walked away, were a disgrace to humanity in general, almost as bad as Hufflepuffs. Given how everyone in her group had laughed, even if it wasn't a witty comment, they agreed to some extent and were unlikely to speak to her at all. When Megara had picked herself up off the ground gingerly, testing how her sore, scraped knees would hold up her weight, she realised everyone in the hall was giving her wide berth and a few were grinning in amusement and glee at her obvious pain.

No friends. One more problem in a week filled with problems. Megara limped down the corridors until she reached her next class where Sirius Black was nice enough to heal her knees, saying he'd had some practise with healing charms. It unnerved her to realise that Sirius was the only person being truly nice to her. Every time she ran into Faith and Marie, they spoke to her in veiled insults and looked around as if they were embarrassed. She supposed she couldn't blame them; if she was in their place, she would be embarrassed as well. But she wasn't standing in their place, and the way they were now treating her made her want to throw herself onto her bed and cry until there was no tears left. The morning had been a lie—they only spoke to her because there was no one around.

She forced herself to send a letter to her parents, asking them to allow her to finish the year, but her heart wasn't in it. Spending the next nine months here was beginning to sound like a punishment. Only the knowledge that home would not be better made her send the letter.

She couldn't force herself to eat so she headed back up to the common room. Everyone was at dinner, so she had the dorm to herself. Without bothering to close the curtains, she threw herself bodily onto the bed and did what she had been longing to do all afternoon. Her sobs tore through the air, echoing in the room, and within minutes, her pillow was soaked.

Twilight had given way to deep night when she finally lifted her head off the pillow. Her room mates were all in bed, and panic welled up when she realised they would have heard her crying. And no one said anything.

_It's not as if you care about what they think, _she reminded herself. Slowly, she sat up. Her back and neck were stiff and her eyes were scratchy. She blinked a few times and noticed a candle flickering in the warm air.

It was the red haired mud-blood. She had a book on her lap, and she was dressed in white pyjamas. She looked up. "I thought you'd fallen asleep."

"Leave me alone, mud-blood."

"My name is Lily Evans."

"Do I care?"

"Probably not. But I thought you'd like to know anyway, Davies."

"Leave me alone."

"Fine." Evans grinned. "A letter came for you." She nodded towards Megara's trunk. "Goodnight, Davies."

Even though Evans had climbed back into bed, Megara stuck her tongue out as she grabbed her letter.

The letter was short.

"_That is for the best._

_Make the family proud._

_Nathalie Grace Davies'_

Megara couldn't stop the wave of tears.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, the Slytherin table discovered beetles in their porridge. Everyone stared as Professor McGonagall searched the students' faces and promptly removed Sirius Black and James Potter from the Gryffindor table. Judging by their matching grins and the way they went without complaint, they were in fact the perpetrators, and the entire school knew it. All three of Sirius' cousins in Slytherin gave them both dirty looks as they walked out of the hall on McGonagall's heels. Megara added her own sneer to it. James glared at all of them, and Sirius gave a smirk and bowed dramatically all the way out the hall.

"I can't believe they did that."

"That's disgusting."

"I think I've lost my appetite."

Megara refocused her attention on the three girls sitting across from her. She hadn't bothered to learn her room mates' names yet, but the dark-skinned girl pushed her plate away and made a face. Lily Evans was still eating her breakfast calmly, as if nothing happened. The dark-haired, pale-skinned girl was picking at her food unenthusiastically.

"You'll get hungry if you don't eat, Mena," the dark-haired girl said.

"I will when you do."

The brunette laughed softly and took a bite. Megara could tell it took a great deal of effort for her to actually swallow the food. Mena reluctantly took a bite out of her own food, and Lily Evans looked up to see Megara staring at them. She dropped her head quickly, managing to lose her blonde curls in her food. As she wiped them clean, she looked around to see if anyone noticed.

Just her room mates, she learned, as they were all watching her. She stared back at them for a moment, then Evans said, "You missed some," and handed her another napkin.

It was the kindest thing a student had said to Megara the whole week, so she accepted the napkin with a murmured thanks and tried to wipe her hair again. Evans leaned over the table and directed her to the sauce staining one stray curl. She muttered another thank you under her breath, and they both went back to their breakfast as if nothing had happened.

**000**

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Evans managed to successfully perform the charm on her very first try. This shocked everyone, even the professor, even Evans, and Megara left the classroom in a foul mood, having not been able to cast the spell at all. She stalked into the library, found a quiet corner, threw down her books with more force than necessary, and almost ripped her bag in two when she opened it. She pulled out her homework and tried to start on it, but she succeeded only in shattering her glass ink pot and breaking the tip of her quill. Frustrated, she ripped her essay to pieces, tossed the pieces to the floor, and buried her face in the table.

How long had she been here? How many more did she have left? Even if she went home for winter holidays, she would still be stuck here for more than two hundred fifty days. And she still had to suffer through another day until the weekend. Why didn't she insist on going home?

"You know, Davies, the essay's not that hard."

Evans. Megara wiped her tears surreptitiously on her sleeve and glared up at the other girl, but she was aware of her red eyes and nose.

Evans threw herself down in the chair across the table. "Are you okay?"

"You do know that I hate you, right?"

"You don't hate me, you hate my blood, according to Mena and Lucy."

"Who?"

"Our dorm mates."

Oh. She vaguely recalled the dark-haired girl calling the dark-skinned one Mena at breakfast. "How do you know I don't hate you as well?"

"You have no reason to."

"That doesn't mean I don't."

"True."

Evans didn't say anything else, and unable to handle the silence that brought her misery back onto the forefront of her mind, Megara slowly asked,"So why are you here?"

"I like being a bother." Her smirk supported this. "And," she confessed after a moment, her smirk dropping into a grimace, "Mena and Lucy have been taken by James Potter and Sirius Black, and I'm not sure I like their ideas."

"Mena and Lucy's or Sirius and James'?"

"All of them. And I wanted to see what your problem was. Black explained it to me, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"I don't have a problem."

"You don't like me, remember?"

Megara straightened her seat and tried to ignore Evans. She pulled another sheet of parchment out, let the book fall open, and started writing. After five minutes, she could no longer ignore Evans' stare and she looked up at her. "Yes?"

"Will you just answer me a question?"

"Will you leave if I do?"

"Yes."

"What did your parents raise you to believe?"

Megara dropped her quill in shock. Evans continued, "Black did tell me you didn't like—what's the word?"

"Mud-bloods."

"I think there was a g in there."

"Muggle-borns."

"That one. Thank you."

"You want to know why I hate mud-bloods?"

"Yeah."

Megara picked the quill back up and turned her eyes to her essay. "I was raised to believe that. There's no _reason_ for it." She couldn't say she understood the question. "I am a pure-blood from one of the richest, most pure families in the United Kingdom. I have hundreds of years of magic running through my veins. Why would I not be better than people who come from some magic-fearing culture?"

"That's what your parents taught you? To judge people on the... purity of their blood instead of who they are?"

"Don't insult my parents!"

Evans continued musing as if she hadn't heard her. "And that means they were probably raised like that. And their parents... God, hundreds of years of prejudice! No wonder you hate me." She was smirking again now, her eyes bright with amazement and amusement. "Then I shan't bother you any longer. Wouldn't want you to break out into hives from my presence."

Evans stood and curtsied sarcastically before bouncing off. Megara watched her go, trying to understand why the other girl had bothered with the questions at all, but mostly trying to understand why she couldn't think of a good reason to hate her.

She didn't have to dwell on that. Faith Avery took the seat next to her just seconds after Evans left.

"What are you doing, talking to a mud-blood?"

Megara shrugged. What was she doing, talking to Evans like that? She hadn't even insulted her, not really; she'd only called her a mud-blood, something she knew Evans had heard a lot of in the last couple of days. She'd had a perfectly polite conversation with a girl she should be turning her nose up at, and she couldn't even find it in herself to apologise.

"Salazar, Megara, I don't even recognise you now. You're wearing red and gold, and you're talking to mud-bloods—"

"I haven't changed," Megara protested. "I spoke to a mud-blood once. I have to sleep in the same dorm as her—why is it a problem to answer one of her questions?"

Faith screwed up her nose, and Megara couldn't help but notice it made her look ugly. "What was she asking you anyway?" Faith asked coldly.

Megara didn't know exactly what to say, but she knew she didn't want to reveal the truth to Faith. So she said the first thing she thought of that might be a reasonable question for Evans to have.

"She was asking me what mud-blood meant."


	4. Chapter 4

Friday started with a bang—literally. Potter and Black, clearly not having learned their lesson, set off Dr. Filibuster's firecrackers in the common room at daybreak. The prefects all stomped down the steps and took them off to McGonagall's while the rest of the tower attempted to catch a couple more hours of sleep before they had to go down to classes. Megara had managed about forty minutes before giving up and stomping off to breakfast.

It was the best time to eat, she noted, when you didn't have anyone to eat with. There weren't a lot of people and she could sit on one side of the table, far away from anyone else, and no one would ignore her or glare at her. In fact, no one looked at her at all. It was mostly older students at the tables, a book propped up in front of them so they could study for their advanced classes. And the older students, she noticed, didn't care about her. They didn't care about her blood or her strange Sorting; all they cared about were their friends and their studies. She wouldn't mind doing that. Studying was infinitely preferable to getting glared at.

Lost in thought, she picked at her eggs for a few minutes before she realised everything had gone quiet and tense. Hoping she wasn't the cause, she looked up and found everyone's eyes focused on the door of the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to the door too, and her sigh caught in her throat.

Bellatrix Black was snarling at a Ravenclaw boy with a head full of brown curls. He looked to be her age, one of the older students, and he didn't look very scared of her. The only teacher in the hall was Professor Slughorn, who seemed to be falling asleep in his porridge and not noticing spells were about to be thrown around.

The Ravenclaw grinned at Bellatrix almost mockingly and said in a clear, ringing voice, "So what if I kissed your sister, Black? What are you going to do?"

With a shock, Megara realised this must be the mud-blood boy Andromeda Black was rumoured to be dating secretly. He looked cocky, standing arrogantly, as if he didn't think Bellatrix would actually curse him. The only thing that gave him away was the position of his left hand—it was lingering over his wand, ready to pull it out on a moment's notice.

"How dare you, mud-blood? How dare you sully my sister?"

Megara knew that, had she been in Bellatrix's place, she would have said the same words, but it sounded strange on Bellatrix's tongue. It sounded cruel, more like an insult, where to Megara the word was simply an explanation of what muggle-borns were. Impure blood was simply what they had.

The boy grinned and leaned against the door frame casually, apparently not noticing that they now had an audience. A group trying to get to breakfast was standing behind them a little ways, out of the range of most spells, their eyes wide with awe and fear. The boy—well, not a boy, he was older than her—glanced over the heads of the smaller students and his grin widened. "You must be Sirius."

Sirius had pushed his way to the front of the group and was scowling. He smiled slightly at the Ravenclaw's words. "You must be Ted. Nice to meet you. Is Bella dear giving you problems?"

Bellatrix sputtered. Her face was red with rage, and sparks were flying out of her wand. She looked wild and dangerous, and her beauty was marred by her anger. "Giving him problems? Giving _him _problems!"

Sirius grinned at her. "You know, I would have taken your side if you hadn't yelled at me last night." He grabbed her hand and gave her an innocent, sweet smile. "This isn't the place to talk about it. And maybe Andromeda should be the first person you talk to."

Bellatrix glared at him before her face became doubtful. Sirius' calmness, his innocently sweet smile, and the attention of everyone involved seemed to blunt her anger. She dropped her wand and said, "I think you may be right, Gryffie."

Sirius gave her an absolutely angelic grin and took her hand, leading her to the Slytherin table, kissing her cheek, and depositing her next to Rastaban Lestrange. Everyone took this as a cue to scamper to their seats. James Potter and three other boys she vaguely recognised from classes sat a little ways down the table from her. James was talking about the detentions he had Sirius would have to do with a smile on his face. Sirius dropped next to him, and moments later, Lucy and Mena joined them. Lily Evans sniffed haughtily and dropped down next to Megara instead.

"You don't mind a bit of company, do you, Davies?"

"Are you protesting against Black and Potter?"

"Yes."

"Then no, I don't have any objections." Megara took a few bites before speaking again. "What are the names of the other three boys?"

"The lanky, sickly-looking one is Remus Lupin. He's very nice, I met him on the train. The one with the shaggy blonde hair is Dante Caspar. I've never spoken to him, but he seems the friendly sort. And the little one is Peter Pettigrew. He squeaks and hides behind Remus whenever teachers talk to him."

"What's he doing in Gryffindor?"

Evans shrugged.

Andromeda Black came striding up. She sat next to Sirius and kissed the top of his head. Feeling guiltily nosy, Megara strained to hear what they were saying. It appeared Evans was doing the same thing, which made her feel slightly better. "Thank you for stopping Bella."

"She's getting out of hand."

"She doesn't understand."

"Did you expect her to?" Sirius asked around a mouth full of sausage.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth. And no, I didn't. And Ted..." Andromeda sighed. "Ted seems to want to take on the entire family. Bella will just—"

"Kill first and ask questions later?" Potter offered.

"James! Bella's not going to kill anyone! She'll just—" But Andromeda didn't seem to know what Bellatrix might do. Megara didn't want to agree with Potter, but she had a feeling he was right. Bellatrix's eyes were beyond crazy just moments ago, and it wasn't hard to imagine her killing.

Megara shivered without intending to. The only person who noticed was Lily Evans, who glanced over at Bellatrix before looking back at her. She seemed to understand what Megara was thinking, and, judging from the lack of the usual spark in her eys, she seemed to understand she had just entered a world dangerous for people like her.

For the first time, Megara pitied someone.

000

The rest of the day thankfully passed without another such display. In fact, the day passed without anything interesting happening. They listened to Binns drone on and on about some war in the Middle Ages then suffered through another session with Slughorn, without learning anything at all. Astronomy took place at midnight, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Without her realising it, it was Saturday morning.

She had looked forward to having the weekend, but by lunchtime she couldn't understand why. Lily Evans had been missing from the Gryffindor Tower all day, holed away in the library from what she could gather, and she was the only person who actually spoke to Megara. Lucy and Mena didn't ever talk to her directly, Faith and Marie sneered every time she came near them, and Black and Potter were apparently trying to start everyone's day but theirs off wrong by setting off some infuriating prank. This morning it had been itching powder in the prefects' clothes. Megara was sure the entire castle heard the Gryffindor prefects yelling.

She spent the day working on her essays for class. Most of them were easy enough—the teachers, with the exception of McGonagall, didn't expect anything from a class who had only had three days of lessons. Six inch essays were easy to do. However, McGonagall expected a little more from them, so Megara found herself heading towards the library after dinner. At the very least, it would give her a place where silence was expected. But hopefully, Evans, who hadn't appeared at dinner, would still be there. Megara couldn't help but want to talk to the only student who didn't look down upon her in any way. Evans seemed rather nice, given Megara hadn't been.

The library was practically empty. It was, after all, the first week of school, and even the OWL and NEWT students hadn't bother jumping into the swing of things just yet. Only a few studious people sat around the tables, but Megara didn't want to sit in the middle of the room. She picked up a couple of books she thought sounded interesting and wove her way through the poetry section, wondering why it was there at all, since no one ever seemed to read any of the poems. She settled on a small dust-covered table in the corner. Wiping it with her robes, she opened the first book.

000

One could only read about ancient magic for so long before its tediousness lulled them to sleep. Megara awoke to all the torches dimmed considerably. She knew that the library was closed and Madam Pince hadn't seen her there. Just as well. She didn't want to get thrown out. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stumbled along the narrow path between shelves. Little room had been carved out for the poetry. Most likely because no one ever opened the books. She wasn't even entirely sure Madam Pince knew about the section, given the thick layer of dust choking her as she walked. Clearly the house-elves that worked below Hogwarts didn't know about this section or else they would have cleaned it.

It took her several minutes to find her way back into the main area of the library. A clock was hanging over Madam Pince's desk. It read eleven. Megara yawned into her hand and stumbled forward. One of the books she was holding fell from her hands and bounced across the floor. Sighing, she followed it in the dim torchlight. She suddenly stopped short of where the book fell, and she screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

Peeves the Poltergeist flew in the moment she screamed. His initial expression suggested glee at finding a student out of bed during the hour when only the seventh year prefects on shift were allowed to be out of their dorms. The expression shifted quickly when he caught sight of Lily Evans' deathly pale, bloodied body on the floor. But Megara hardly noticed him. Her initial shock had given way to panic, and she knelt by Evans' body and checked for some sign she was still alive. By the time she managed to find her frail pulse, the Head Boy and Girl and one of the ghosts were in the library as well.

Megara didn't have time to register she was in trouble. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest with confusion and fear. Questions flooded her mind, but she didn't have time to try and answer them. The Head Girl had grabbed her arm and was marching her out of the library. The ghost had floated out to inform both Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, her head of house, and the Head Boy had picked up Evans and was taking her to the hospital wing.

She stumbled alongside the Head Girl, a pretty Hufflepuff with her mouth twisted in a terrible manner. Her heart was beginning to subside, but she hadn't regained control of her voice yet. Her breathing was ragged in her chest and her arm was hurting from the nails digging in it.

They came into view of two stone gargoyles. The Head Girl muttered the password and shoved Megara in front of her. Megara climbed the spiralling staircase and halted before the door. Anxiety crashed over in her waves, and her brain finally processed why she was here.

They thought she did it.

She was going to be expelled—or worse, sent to Azkaban. She couldn't imagine her parents helping her much. Her father's various political and business ventures kept him from openly looking down on mud-bloods. Even though he complained about them at home, Megara knew her family wasn't quite rich enough to let their opinions be too publicly known. In Hogwarts, she was relatively safe on that count—most of them didn't pay enough attention to her specifically when there were other, bigger threats in the school. A first year who couldn't perform many spells wasn't important. Not when people like Bellatrix Black were openly threatening mud-bloods inside the school.

She was pushed down into a chair. The Head Girl was scowling now, her face tinged red with anger. Dumbledore's footsteps sounded in the back of the room, and he appeared, his lavender robes twinkling slightly. His expression was calmly questioning, and Megara's stomach twisted painfully in fear. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, offered them both some candy called lemon drops, and waited until McGonagall came in, in a dressing robes and slippers.

"What happened, Miss Samuels?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

The Head Girl explained hearing Megara's scream and finding her standing over Evans. Megara listened as well as she could with her blood pounding in her ears. Dumbledore dismissed the Head Girl and turned to Megara. "Tell me what happened, Miss Davies."

She told him the truth, trying not to squirm in her seat. His blue eyes were boring into her, and she felt guilty, although she didn't actually do anything. Dumbledore remained silent after she finished, so she turned to Professor McGonagall, who was pale and trembling. Suspicion was in the professor's eyes, and Megara could feel her panic returning full-force.

"Have we heard anything about Miss Evans' condition?" Dumbledore asked.

"The Fat Friar said Madam Pomfrey thought the damage to be minimal," McGonagall's voice was shaky also, "It looked much worse than it was. She should be completely healed by Monday if that's the case. She's still running some tests."

"Good, good." His eyes swung back to Megara. "Miss Davies, I cannot allow Miss Evans' attacker to go undisciplined."

"But I didn't—"

"I am not convinced you attacked Miss Evans, nor am I convinced you did not."

Her stomach was in knots; she felt like throwing up. Hogwarts may have been a hell for her, but at least it was better than wasting her days at home. And most anything was better than Azkaban.

"I will allow you to remain at Hogwarts for the time being, until we find her attacker."

Relief, however brief, was the best.

"You will, however," McGonagall interjected, her voice stronger now, more like usual, "have to serve a week's worth detentions for being out so late after hours."

"Yes, Professor," she said politely. Her stomach was easing now; she had time to prove her innocence.

"I will take you to your common room now."

000

Once McGonagall had left, the nightmare truly began. Megara entered her dorm to find Lucy and Mena pacing in their nightclothes. They both turned to her with accusing eyes. "Where's Lily?" Lucy asked, stepping forward, her hazel eyes flashing.

"She's in the hospital wing."

"What did you do to her?" The accusation in her eyes grew stronger.

"Nothing! I just found her. She'll be fine."

"Where were you?"

"In Dumbledore's office, answering questions."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Are you getting expelled?"

"I didn't bloody do anything!" Her voice was louder than she wanted it to be.

"I don't believe that."

"I don't bloody care."

She threw herself in bed and tried to drown them out.

000

News spread quickly through Hogwarts that a mud-blood student had been attacked. She had hoped her name would kept out of it, but Peeves was telling everyone she attacked Evans. The Fat Friar was trying to stop him, but by the time he managed to get the Bloody Baron to stop him, the story had already spread like wildfire through the school. Even the older students who had, up until this point, ignored her began casting her evil glances. She was harassed wherever she went, and she had taken to holing herself up in her bed and skipping meals. Luckily, Dumbledore had given a small statement during dinner one day with a subtle reminder that no one had been punished for it just yet and they shouldn't trust Peeves' word.

Evans, for her part, was still in the hospital wing and still unconscious. Madam Pomfrey's expectations that by Monday she would be awake were halted by unforeseen complications. Evans was bleeding inside, although she was healing slowly but surely. This did nothing to soothe Lucy and Mena's concerns. They refused to be in the dorm while Megara was in there, leaving early in the morning and creeping in when she was well past asleep. The unwanted feeling that had been running through her since the past three days tripled.

Saturday was spent scrubbing cauldrons for Slughorn, Sunday no teacher could be bothered to deal with detentions, and Monday she was assigned to clean the trophy room. Tuesday she helped in the hospital, and Wednesday she organised files for the caretaker. And Thursday... Thursday was the worst.

Sirius Black and James Potter had spent the better part of the week sending glares at her. She managed to avoid them and their glares most of the time, but Thursday she served detention with them, helping Madam Pince in the library. Madam Pince didn't like that she had been "skulking around" after hours and had only stopped sneering when Megara had pointed out the unused poetry section. Madam Pince, appalled that she didn't know about it, sent the three of them to dust and clean the area with supplies brought by the house-elves.

For the better part of the first hour, she was constantly thrown against the shelves. They would push past her as if she wasn't there, forcing her to move or get elbowed. They purposely messed up the section she was cleaning so she would have to start all over again. She tried to ignore them as they ignored her, pretending there was no one else in the room but still avoiding them. But she couldn't ignore the furious tears pricking at her eyes. She refused to shed them for the first hour, but by the time the second hour came around, they were steadily streaming down her cheeks and her sleeves were damp from constantly wiping them away. She knew they saw them because their whispers weren't as soft as they thought they were, but they didn't say anything to her. But they did leave her alone after that, and for that, she was grateful.

By the end of the second hour, the poetry section was completely dust and stain free and begun to look like the rest of the library. Madam Pince then had them re-shelve the books in the right order. As the task required much more concentration, with the titles somewhat faded, they worked silently for a while.

Megara knew that she should say something to James and Sirius, but she couldn't think of what. They would react even worse than her room mates had. At least Lucy and Mena didn't go out of their way to bully her. They simply treated her as if she were invisible. James and Sirius seemed to take pleasure in making her cry and making her thoroughly hate them.

Merlin, no wonder Evans hated spending time with them. Megara's throat choked up at the thought of the redhead. Two weeks ago, she would have cheered for one less mud-blood, but Evans was the only person who didn't ignore her. Even if she did hate her, she didn't say it out loud. Megara laughed derisively. It was a sad state when politeness was the closest you had to friendship. None of her old friends even spoke to her. Most of them avoided so much as looking at her.

Too late, she realised she had laughed out loud. Potter and Black were staring at her, half confused, half afraid. They all stared at each other for several long seconds.

Finally, Sirius asked, "Are you mad, Davies?"

"I didn't attack her," she said suddenly, the beginning of her words running together with the end of his. "I know you don't believe me, but I didn't attack her. I'm not happy about this." She sounded deranged to her own ears. A hysterical sob escaped her and tears found their way down her cheeks again. "I'm not happy at all. And why would I be? Everyone hates me. The only person who was anywhere near nice to me is the hospital wing." Between her hiccuping sobs, crazed eyes, and emotional voice, she knew she had to look like a lunatic. She wiped her eyes hastily and turned away from them, going back to work as if nothing had happened.

She felt their eyes on her for several minutes longer. Finally, they returned to their work and the next half hour was passed in total silence.

000

Friday morning dawned bright and early for Megara. Her watch read six forty. She closed her eyes but sleep had left her completely. Not that she had been getting much of it lately. Ten minutes later, she was on her way to breakfast. Belatedly, she remembered breakfast wouldn't start for another ten minutes, and the Great Hall's doors wouldn't open themselves until one minute before. And most likely, there wouldn't be enough people for her to hide away in the crowd. She debated her options for a moment before deciding to check on Evans. It might be the only place she wouldn't be glared at.

She approached the hospital wing quietly, carefully avoiding Mr. Filch's cat, the ghosts, and one teacher she didn't know. With it being so close to breakfast, she wouldn't be punished for being out this early, but she didn't want anyone to catch her anyway. It was clear even the teachers weren't sure she wasn't to blame.

Madam Pomfrey was already up, checking on her few patients. Having already visited, Megara went straight to Evans' bed. She stopped short when she realised someone was already there.

A boy in Slytherin robes was sitting next to the redhead, stroking the back of her hand. He had black hair that looked like it needed a wash and a large hook nose. He looked up at her and glared. His eyes were dark and closed off. "You're the one who attacked her."

"I didn't attack her," she sighed as she wondered why a Slytherin was visiting a mud-blood. "Who are you?"

He looked at her for a beat before responding. "Severus Snape."

She vaguely remembered him from classes. Truthfully, she hadn't paid much attention to her classmates. In the beginning it had been out of contempt, but now she ignored them as she wanted them to ignore her—mindful she was there but not wanting to do anything about it.

"I'm Megara Davies."

"I know."

Awkward silence fell. She was finding she didn't much like Severus Snape, and she had a feeling he didn't like her either.

"So how do you know Evans?"

He took a while to respond. "We live in the same neighbourhood."

He had to be a half-blood at the most or else he wouldn't live a muggle place. She knew many in Slytherin were. It didn't matter. Clearly, he was friends with Evans from before, and she didn't want to intrude. He had one of the most menacing glares she'd ever seen.

"Right. Well, if she's fine, then I'll just be going..." She turned and smacked into Madam Pomfrey. The healer scowled as she straightened. "Good morning, Madam Pomfrey," Megara said, hoping to ward off a lecture. "How are you this morning?"

"Busy."

"I've just come to check on Ev—Lily."

"She's doing much better."

"Good. Well, I'll be off then."

Megara went scampering off quickly, away from Severus Snape's hostile glare.


	6. Chapter 6

Late Saturday afternoon Lily Evans woke from her coma for the first time. The news passed quickly through the school via the ghosts and by dinner the entire school knew. The only people that considered this bad news were the Slytherins, but the rest of the school was glad that an attempt to kill a muggle-born student had failed.

For Megara though, this meant something different. Although she was relieved Evans would fully recover, she knew that Dumbledore would question Lily about the attack. Dumbledore wouldn't punish anyone without reason, but she was still half-afraid that she would be expelled for the attack. Dumbledore wouldn't be able to question Evans until she was able to stay awake long enough.

The worry took Megara all through Sunday and well into Monday. The students didn't glare at her, but rather stared gleefully at her, knowing they would soon be rid of her. Their glee chafed at her raw nerves, and she skipped her meals Sunday and Monday. The one piece of toast she ate Sunday morning didn't sit well with her.

Monday evening, she was called into Dumbledore's office. He looked at her gravely over the rim of his glasses. "I spoke to Miss Evans earlier this evening."

Knots twisted in her stomach. She couldn't respond; she only stared back at him.

"Miss Evans saw her attacker, and she assures me it wasn't you."

Relief. She was reminded forcibly of when she was here a week ago. The same emotions were tumbling through her.

"So, with your punishment served, you are free to enjoy the castle." He spread his arms wide, good humour returning to his eyes.

"Professor, if I may, who attacked her?"

Dumbledore dropped his arms in a deceptively calm manner. "Miss Faith Avery."

000

Megara dazedly wound her way through the school, not sure of where her feet were taking her. Anger, betrayal, and shock overshadowed her initial relief. Faith. Her best friend since childhood. Faith was as gleeful as everyone else to think she was leaving. Faith assumed Megara would be expelled for the crime. And she didn't care.

The slash of betrayal was deep. It was clear ten years of friendship meant nothing to Faith, and it stung more than Megara thought it would. She knew that Slytherins rarely spoke their emotions; most of the time, they didn't seem to have any. Maybe the Sorting Hat was right to put her in Gryffindor. She felt different than the Slytherins she knew; maybe she wouldn't have fit in with them at all.

Then again, she didn't fit in with the Gryffindors either. Or rather, they didn't want her. She wasn't sure she blamed them. How must it look to them? She'd never tried to look at things from another's point of view because all the people she knew had the same point of view. It wasn't as easy as she expected.

No self-respecting Gryffindor hated mud—muggle-borns. She should get used to saying that out loud. Perhaps her house would be a little nicer to her. After all, a good quarter, at least, were muggle-borns. Another quarter was pure-blood. The rest were half-bloods. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were the most tolerant of muggle-borns. To them, she wasn't only an outsider, she was tarnishing the entire house. Megara had learned as a child it only took one person to cause problems. She was Gryffindor's problem. Instead of trying to change her mind, they avoided her, showing the rest of the school how little they wanted her. The rest of the school followed their lead.

She found herself standing in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. She gave the password, dejectedly walked to her dorm, and pulled the curtains around her bed.

No one wanted her. The thought sliced through her stomach like a knife. She was the enemy to the entire school. The Slytherins wanted nothing to do with her for being a Gryffindor and the other houses wanted nothing to do with her for being too Slytherin. What was she supposed to do? Should she just give up and go back home?

000

It was dawn when she woke. Her eyes were gritty from crying, her cheeks were tight, and there were red lines all over her arms from the sheets. She took a long shower and stumbled into her robes. She had some time before breakfast, so she sat in front of the fire in the common room and muddled through an essay. But the previous night's thought kept coming back to her. How was she supposed to stop being an enemy to three hundred students?

"Morning, Davies. When are you leaving?"

James Potter was possibly the last person Megara would consider a morning person, but he always seemed to be awake before breakfast.

"I'm not leaving, Potter."

"Good one, Davies. Do you really think Dumbledore's going to allow a murderer to stay in school?"

The sickly looking boy—she couldn't remember his name—was coming down the stairs. He heard Potter's comment and frowned. "Innocent until proven guilty, James."

"Innocent completely," she interjected. "I saw Dumbledore last night. They caught Evans' attacker."

Potter snorted and walked out the common room. The other boy smiled tentatively at her. She tried to smile back. He held out his hand to her. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Remus Lupin."

She couldn't imagine being friends with him, but she thought it was time to do some damage control on his image. "Nice to meet you, Remus," she said as she shook his hand. "I'm Megara."

000

She went down to breakfast with Remus and the scared boy, Peter Pettigrew. Remus did most of the talking, but she laughed at all of his dry comments. He seemed to believe she was innocent. It made her incredibly grateful, more so than she thought was possible. The gesture was simple, so common, that she felt stupid for thinking it monumental.

Remus sat down between her and Potter, keeping the conversation steady. This required the topics to mainly consist of classes, although there was a brief discussion of when they thought flying lessons would start. Megara had never been allowed on a broomstick before; it wasn't considered proper for young ladies. She almost admitted she was terrified, but she didn't think Potter or Black, who arrived halfway through the conversation, would let it go.

"Why is she here?"

Megara looked up at the boy standing across the table. He appeared to be a seventh year. A scowl twisted his face and he was glaring at her with uncensored hatred. Scared, she sunk low in her seat and looked around. She doubted anyone would help her, but she couldn't find any words.

"Why is she here?"

"What are you on about, Bingham?" Black asked.

"She should be gone."

"Well, she's not."

Bingham rolled his eyes and turned to the head table. Dumbledore was deep in conversation with McGonagall. Bingham yelled up at him, "Why is Davies still here?"

Dumbledore was calm as ever, something Megara both admired and hated. "Why would she not be here, Mr. Bingham?"

"She killed a muggle-born."

By then, they had the attention of the entire school. Unable to look at the headmaster or the boy arguing with him, she searched the Slytherin table for Faith. She found Marie sitting with Narcissa, looking dejected. Narcissa suddenly turned and gave Megara a small smile. Marie looked up and scowled. Faith had clearly already been expelled. Megara knew Dumbledore hated expelling students, but even he wouldn't keep someone who attempted murder here at the school.

"No one died, Mr. Bingham. Nor is Ms. Davies the culprit—you should know better than to listen to Peeves by now." This was his way of making a formal announcement since he'd been asked. The school wouldn't settle for anything less. This had to be addressed. "The culprit has been caught and expelled. I would remind you, in the future, to not believe everything you hear."

000

By the time Evans was officially released from the hospital wing, Lucy and Mena had apologised somewhat reluctantly to Megara, Narcissa told her she was glad it wasn't her and she was sorry about Faith, and the school had begrudgingly accepted her innocence and went back to ignoring her. Marie had blamed her for Faith's attack, saying if she had kept away from the mud-blood then Faith wouldn't have felt compelled to a make a point, but Megara had brushed it off. She wasn't about to take the blame for Faith overreacting.

Unfortunately, both Faith's parents and her own took Marie's side. She received two very scathing letters. The one from Mrs. Avery used language no proper, upstanding member of the community should have used. The one from her mother was no less harsh, although there were threats in the place of insults. 'Do not dally with those of lesser blood or we shall bring you home' was the recurring theme. It wasn't her intent to dally with those of lesser blood, but she had to attend school with them, and she knew she needed for them to at least be indifferent to her for her to have a good school year. If they stopped thinking of her as a threat (because they still did sometimes), she would be able to breathe easier. She didn't need friends, but she didn't need torture either.

Remus remained friendly, but he was becoming fast friends with Potter and Black. Black seemed to accept her innocence, but he mainly ignored her. Potter, on the other hand, hated her, let her know it, and only left her alone because he couldn't stand her presence. Peter was nice enough to her, but he didn't start conversations, and she couldn't be bothered to start one with him. Dante, the other boy, made friends with a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw and was frequently at the library with them. None of them seemed to be fond of her nor did they seem to be upset with her.

Not that she cared. It was just three more people who ignored her.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I'm sorry for the delay; I had to rewrite this since I was beginning to get ahead of myself in the plot line. I am not the most patient person, but the story made no sense with the sudden jump. Thank you to all my readers for your support and patience.

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><p>Megara was assigned the task of helping Evans catch up in her school work. It seemed terribly ridiculous to her—Evans had managed to complete most of her essays in the five days Madam Pomfrey kept her cooped up in the hospital wing. She even managed to cast two spells Megara had yet to perform correctly. Currently, she was trying to explain how she did one. Megara wasn't thrilled with the idea of learning magic from a mud-blood, but she was even less thrilled with the idea of being the only one who couldn't perform it.<p>

"You're flicking your wand too much."

Megara sighed and tried again.

"Now it's not enough."

Megara glared at the redhead. She was looking considerably better than she had been; her porcelain skin had a pink flush to it, rather than the chalky white colour it had been in the past few days. She was even sitting up without having to be supported. The cuts had done quite a bit of damage to her stomach, but Madam Pomfrey insisted she would be fine as long as she took a specific set of potions for the next couple of weeks.

"Have you ever played piano?" Evans asked.

"Muggles have pianos?"

"Yes. Have you ever played?"

"Have you?" Megara was aware her tone was nasty, but she was getting frustrated.

"My mother made me take lessons when I was younger. Frankly, I hated it, but have you ever flicked your wrist while you were moving your fingers? It's sort of like that."

Megara gave Evans her best evil glare, but the other girl just smiled sweetly.

"Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?" Evans began to play an invisible piano. Megara watched her finger movements for lack of anything better to do, and she quickly caught on. The moment Evans dropped her hand, Megara followed the movement and called the incantation. She was so surprised when the spell worked that she lost control of it.

Begrudgingly, she nodded her thanks to her dorm mate and tried again. This time, it held, so she flopped down in a very unladylike manner on her bed. She could hear Evans' quill scratching along a piece of parchment; clearly, she had some idea of what she was writing. "Do you understand any of it?"

"Any of what?"

"Magic. You're not from it."

"That doesn't mean I don't understand it," Evans said tightly. "Learning is the same in any world. You study and you work at it until you get it right. You can't cast spells easily either, and you've got thousands of years of wizarding blood in you." Her voice was rising, getting angry and mocking all at once, and Megara's wide-eyed shock prevented her from immediately realising the problem.

"I'm only saying—"

"Does having hundreds of years of magic in your veins make you a better witch? You can't perform first year spells!"

"Now, hold on—"

"Does being a pure-blood help you understand something you've never learned?"

"I—"

"Can you do this just because you have a witch and wizard for parents?"

"Stop it!" Megara took a deep breath to calm herself. She realised how stupid it sounded, now that it had been pointed out. Of course she would be offended. Any witch would. Even if Evans wasn't a true witch. "Fine, I get it. You understand the material."

"Yes, I do. What I don't understand is you. What makes me so different from you? I have the same abilities you do. Why am I not a real witch?"

With that, the redhead stormed out of the room.

000

With not enough to do that weekend, Megara's mind wandered back to Evans' words. She couldn't come up with answers for the other girl's questions. A month ago, she would have said it was simply blood that made her better—after all, that's what she had always believed, had been raised to believe. But her time at Hogwarts was proving her wrong, and that bothered her. Evans and some mud-blood Ravenclaw were apparently two of the smartest in their year, next to Sirius Black and James Potter. It felt wrong to her, that two girls who didn't know anything of their world were competing with the sons of two of England's oldest, richest pure-blood families.

And the two boys were a problem in and of themselves. James seemed to take a vindictive, cruel approach to dealing with her, even though she usually avoided him except for classes. He pushed her down while she was walking, when he spoke to her, it was with condescension, and he took a particular interest in making her cry. Sirius, on the other hand, was clipped in a polite manner whenever she spoke to him, but there was distrust swirling in his eyes. It didn't bother her too much; what bothered her the most was his sharp bitterness that showed up without warning and disappeared as quickly. The heir of an influential family would have grown up with the world a golden plate, and he seemed to hate it.

Thankfully, Remus and Peter were nice to her, if not particularly friendly. There was a bit of distrust on all sides there—none of them were sure everyone was as they appeared to be. They didn't trust her wholly, and she wasn't sure they weren't out to humiliate her at the end. Especially as they had become fast friends with Potter and Black.

Evans, when she wasn't asking questions that irritated Megara to no end, was friendly, something that drew the attention of everyone around them. Lucy and Mena weren't thrilled with Megara studying with them, eating with them, or spending the weekends with them, but if they wanted to spend time with Evans, they had to spend time with her too.

Evans' behaviour confused her the most. Clearly, she understood why Megara didn't want to interact with her, but she went out of her way to invite into a group that didn't want her. She even invited her when she spent time in the library with Severus Snape, who didn't like Megara any more than she liked him. But why she invited her always made Megara question if there was an ulterior motive lurking behind the polite inquiry.

And she couldn't ever come to a conclusion; all she got for her efforts was a headache.

000

Evans pretended she never asked a question that made Megara's head spin, and Megara pretended she had answered it. This led them to sit peacefully at a library table with Severus one evening in mid-October. The library was quiet except for a few NEWT and OWL students holed away with a pile of books. They were sitting in the corner with their Potions books open. Megara liked Potions; she was better at brewing than she was at casting spells.

"Which Potion are we supposed to be writing about again?"

"Pepperup Potion."

They all wrote in silence for several minutes with little effort involved. Slughorn graded essays lackadaisically. If you turned one in, that was good enough for him. The Potions were what really mattered to him. The silence was peaceful, but Severus had to ruin the peace, like he always did.

"There's no ginger in Pepperup Potions, Lily."

"I know, Sev," Evans said with her nose scrunched up confusedly. "There's no ginger in my essay either."

"Just her hair," Megara said breezily. She couldn't resist; the ends of Evans' hair were brushing against the parchment.

"It's not ginger, it's auburn."

"Honestly, Severus," Evans said, "can't you take a joke?"

He stared at her with a blank expression. "You have ginger _in _your essay." He pointed to a word in the essay. Evans leaned close and squinted. Finally, she said, "It doesn't say ginger, my handwriting's just messy."

"It says ginger."

"Well, it's not supposed to."

"You can just admit you were wrong."

"I'm not wrong. I didn't write the word ginger down!"

"It's perfectly understandable."

"I didn't mess up! I'm copying directly from the book!"

"You don't have to be so stubborn about it."

Evans was getting louder, Severus softer. Megara knew by now that both tempers were flaring. Not wanting to be caught in the cross-hairs or kicked out of the library, she interrupted them. "Is this really worth fighting over?"

"No one asked you, Squib."

Megara blinked twice as she silently prayed he didn't just call her that. Severus's face was flushed spottily as he glared at Evans, who in turn was looking puzzled. She mouthed the word, her brow wrinkled in thought, and when it smoothed out, Megara knew she had worked out it was an insult, even though she couldn't know what it meanr. At the point, though, Megara had flushed red with embarrassment and anger. "I am not a Squib, Snape."

"What else do you call someone who can't perform magic?" He was smirking, already thinking he'd won this fight. He did that a lot. Megara found it difficult to like him. He was sure he was right all the time, and if it didn't fit in his vision of reality, it was discarded and ignored. Adaptability was not a trait he seemed to have.

"What do you mean she can't perform magic?"

"She can't perform magic, Lily."

"Yes, I can!" Megara said angrily at the same time Lily said matter-of-factly, "Yes, she can."

"No, she can't."

"Of course she can. What do you think she's doing in class?"

"Screwing up." He said it so matter-of-factly, so genuinely, Megara couldn't help the tears welling up. She blinked to get rid of them, straightened her back, and threw him the nastiest, most condescending glare she could. The one that screamed "you're filth." And he was. More than Evans or any other mud-blood. Absolute filth, a disturbing representative of the Slytherin House.

She knew she should feel a bit sorry for him—Evans had confessed to her that he didn't have the best home life—but she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for the boy whose cruel teasing was second only to James Potter's open bullying. She tucked her essay into her book, put everything neatly into her bag, and stormed out of the library. She could hear Evans berating Snape as she left, but nothing mattered except getting away.

She should have known someone would notice. It took her ages to get spells right. Magical theory and things like potions were easier for her. She still had issues doing the very first of the spells they learned. She'd called herself a Squib before, but she took a small comfort in the fact no one else seemed to think like that. But she couldn't be a Squib, could she? If she was, she wouldn't be at Hogwarts. She had to have some magical ability, however small.

It was the however small that bothered her. She had always imagined herself as a powerful witch, capable of getting anything right the very first time. That's the image that had been with since her mother spoke to her of Hogwarts. She was a pure-blood, her magic hundreds of years old, her blood burning with that magic. And that blood ended up doing nothing for her. Meanwhile, muggle blooded Lily Evans got all her spells right within the first three tries. It made Megara crazy with anger and pain.

She'd been raised to believe her blood was everything, but what if it truly meant nothing?


	8. Chapter 8

Megara was hiding in their dormitory alone that night when Evans came in. "Severus offers his sincerest apologies," she said with dripping sarcasm. "I don't understand how he can insult someone and turn around and get upset when someone insults him." She dropped her bag on her bed. "But I'm sorry for what he said."

"Do you know what a Squib is?"

"No. But it was an insult, clearly."

"Yes." Megara swung her legs off the bed and faced the redhead. "A Squib is born to a magical family but they themselves can't perform magic. It happens sometimes. The magic skips a person, or something traumatic happens to them. Usually, your first burst of accidental magic happens by the time you're eight. If you don't have a burst of magic by then, it's unlikely you'll ever have one. I'm sure you had one, since you're here."

"Someone was insulting my hair when I was five. I set hers on fire. I didn't realise I'd done it—I thought someone had dropped a match or something, but that wouldn't have explained it anyway."

"Match?"

"It's—muggles use them to make fire."

"Oh."

"You were saying?"

"Oh. In the old days, they used to kill off the Squib children. The nicer families would just send them away to an orphanage, but mainly, they killed them. Upper class pure-blood families donate a lot of money to the Ministry and various politicians," Megara explained, ignoring the horrified look on Evans's face, "so even if there was evidence they had murdered their child, they would get away with it.

"Actually, it was the boys who were usually killed," Megara said thoughtfully. "Upper class pure-bloods aren't meant to work at all. The women stay home and host tea parties and gossip all day long. The men buy politicians, drink, smoke, and cheat. A female Squib could still make a good marriage, but a male Squib would have nothing. You know Sirius Black? His namesake, the first Sirius, a great-great-uncle I think, died when he was seven. He was a Squib, allegedly. It's bad luck to name a child after a Squib, but since this Sirius is the third, the 'curse' was broken. But I don't think his parents are happy now. "

"He's not a Squib though."

"No, worse," Megara said grimly. "He's a Gryffindor. As angry as I am—was—his parents would be worse. Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor used to be friends, you know, but when Slytherin left the school, the students in their houses made rivals of each other. The only thing worse than Gryffindor is Hufflepuff, because they're—They're nice. And the Slytherins think of them as weak."

"You come from a very messed up world."

Megara was starting to agree.

000

Marie Rosier cornered her one day after Potions. Megara glanced around the room for help, but Slughorn had disappeared at the only other person in the room was Sirius Black. She didn't think she could count on him for help. Marie walked straight up to her with her nose in the air as if she smelled something. Maybe she smelled a blood traitor—or maybe she smelled a burnt cauldron. Someone had managed to nearly melt theirs. Whatever it was, she didn't look happy.

"Mr. and Mrs. Avery are very upset with you."

"With me?" she asked as she shoved her potions book in her bag. "I didn't do anything to them."

"You don't deserve to be here."

Megara's heart stuttered in her chest. She expected a hex of some sort or some comment about blood traitors and mud-bloods, not whatever this was. She feared she'd be called a Squib again. She didn't think she could handle it from a girl who used to be her friend.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Sirius slow his movements. He carefully reorganised his bag with his head up, watching them. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Sirius would actually defend her if he needed to. He would probably prefer her over Marie.

Marie hadn't even noticed him. He was beneath her notice now. Megara frowned to herself. She was Sirius's cousin; it was sad that he now didn't warrant any sort of greeting.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a weak witch. You're a pitiful excuse for a pure-blood."

Megara's heart skipped a beat. Marie's usual blank demeanour had been replaced by cruel, biting coldness. She felt her own anger cool to hate as she stared into Marie's icy blue eyes. "You're a pitiful excuse for a human, Rosier, so forgive me if I don't agree with your attempt at logic."

Marie frowned as if in thought.

"You'll get wrinkles like that. Your face is the best thing about you. I wouldn't ruin it if I were you."

Marie's eyes flashed. Megara felt a strange sense of pride in breaking Marie's emotionless exterior. Very few people could break through the icy Rosiers. It was a family thing. Her taunts were childish, but Marie's anger made her feel better.

"There's not a problem here, is there?" Professor Slughorn said distractedly as he wandered back into the classroom.

"No, sir."

"Well, go on. You'll be late for your next class."

When Megara walked out the door, Sirius Black gave her a small smile.

000

"I still don't like you, you know," she told Lily Evans in the library one night. They were sitting alone, as Severus had been avoiding Megara since the name-calling incident, and they were working quietly on Transfiguration.

Evans looked up at her quizzically. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. I just thought I'd point that out."

She shrugged. "I'm not sure I believe that."

"Why not?"

"You're here."

"I'm only here because there's no one else. Not because we're friends."

"So you want pity?"

"No!"

Evans brushed her hair out of her face and regarded Megara with something akin to amusement. "Okay then. No friendship and no pity. Room mates, study partners, and stuck with each other it is."

"Very funny."

"Isn't that what you meant? If it's not, then I don't understand."

Megara turned her quill over in her fingers. "I don't know. I just wanted it out there. I don't like you."

"Do you hate me?"

Megara considered the redhead. "No."

"So you're indifferent to me, and I almost enjoy your company, and we're going to be non-friendly study partners. Is that the idea?"

"I guess."

"Okay then."

000

"James Potter! Sirius Black! Get down here! I am going to rip your stomachs open with a fork and feed your innards to a vulture! Get down here now!"

"Merlin, Evans," Megara winced as the echo of the redhead's screams began to fade, "that was disgusting."

"Did someone call?" Sirius Black peeked over the stairs railing and grinned when his eyes fell on Evans, her face almost as red as her hair and her green eyes glowing manically. Lucy and Mena wisely edged away. The rest of the common room looked on in interest. The possibility of seeing James Potter and Sirius Black get thrashed by someone other than a teacher or prefect had drawn everyone's attention. Megara could hardly blame them—the pranks had gotten worse and worse over the last couple of weeks and everyone was ready to feed them to the vultures. Today, the day before Halloween, they had somehow managed to enchant hundreds of fake bats to fly at people while studying. They came out of the fire in a thick black haze, burning essays and scorching people. There had been pandemonium for nearly three minutes before the older students managed to get a hold on the situation. A few chairs, half a table, and several book bags and books had been burnt to a crisp.

All of Evans's belongings had been burnt, including her four completed essays and a library book she had checked out. She also had a nasty, bleeding gouge on her arm from where one of the bats had rammed straight into her. The area around it was burnt, the skin crinkled and black. Megara drew her gaze away and watched the falsely innocent faces of Black and Potter as they slowly walked down the stairs and looked around at the chaos. They didn't appear to notice the glares surrounding them.

"Explain yourselves."

"We don't answer to you, Evans."

"Look around you, Potter." He didn't do anything. "Do it!" she screamed with such ferocity both he and Black obeyed. "Look around you. Look at all the destruction. Was it worth it?"

"Yeah." Potter shrugged.

"Look. Just look. Look at all the bleeding wounds, and the burns, and the charcoaled parchment. Look at how many people have been hurt by you. Think about all the hours people worked on class assignments. Think about how many people want to kill you in slow and painful ways..."

"There's a curse to kill," Potter offered. "Instant death."

"Fascinating. But I want you to die slowly."

"Through a fork?" Black asked with a charming smile, but Megara noticed he was shifting from side to side a bit.

"That was just if you didn't come down." Evans took a deep breath and her voice got quiet and soft. It retained its dangerous edge, but the hot anger and the icy, forced calm was gone. "I really hope you thought _maiming_ people was well worth your little laugh."

Black's shifting increased noticeably. He looked around the room one more time and blurted out, "I reckon we did the spell wrong. They were supposed to just come through the fire, not catch on the flames, and the beaks were supposed to bend if they...hit...someone..." He caught sight of the gaping wound on Evans's arm and his face twisted in horror. He smoothed out and said, "To Dumbledore's we go, huh?"

"Yes, very good," said one of the female prefects a bit sarcastically. "I'll take them and get Madam Pomfrey instead of us all going up to the hospital wing."

The other prefects nodded as she grabbed their arms. Black went without a fight, but Potter asked, "What's the big deal? Everything's fixable."

Everyone stared at him as he remained oblivious in his stupidity.

000

Potter and Black very narrowly avoided expulsion, but they did get a semester's worth of detentions. It was a good thing they were both from rich families; the Potters and Blacks had to pay for the damage to the common room and the lost books. The Gryffindors had were allowed to turn in their essays late until the following Monday with no penalty, and they hadn't had any points taken from them, as McGonagall thought enough damage had been done to their house. Remus, Peter, and Dante were ignoring their dorm mates as well, sitting with the girls during mealtimes.

Halloween passed without much fanfare, besides the prank gone wrong, and Megara was stuffed to the brim with candy and pumpkin juice when she wandered into the dorm room. Lucy and Mena were still at the feast, but Evans was sitting on her bed, absently chewing on the muggle candy her parents sent her. She looked up when Megara threw herself on her bed.

"I've been thinking," the redhead announced.

"About?"

"Potter and Black?"

"Oh?" Megara sat up. "Are we plotting ways to kill them? Because I want in then. I have to rewrite my Charms essay, and my burnt one made it sound like I knew what I was talking about."

"I wasn't necessarily plotting ways to kill them—although that sounds like a much better idea. I was thinking it would be nice to stop them sometimes. Or at least hate them. You know Lucy and Mena were laughing their heads off about the bats? They don't have a huge burn on their arm that makes it difficult to move. Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal the burn—I have to put a salve on it three times a day for the next week."

"Sorry."

"You came away unscathed, didn't you?"

"Scratches only."

"Good."

"How would you stop them anyway?"

"I—I don't know. Listen in on their conversations, steal their parchments and see if they've written something incriminating on it. Or maybe I'll just hate them and be the only person who does. Everyone is bloody laughing, and it's driving me mad. There's nothing funny about harming people, whether is was intentional or not." She tore her gaze away from the window. "Do you want some candy?"

"I can't eat any more. It's a good idea though, hating them. I noticed that too, the students making light of the situation. It's... I really wish they'd thought it through. It might have been funny if they thought it through and did it right. A little Halloween spirit."

"It wouldn't have been funny to me." Evans put the candy on her bedside table. "It isn't the first time they've messed up a prank. They're barely trained wizards trying to do spells outside their ability. If they can't do it right, they shouldn't do it at all. It's not funny. It's just... not funny."

"Well, you're not the only one who feels that way. I, for one, was hoping you'd actually cut their stomachs open with a fork, although I don't want to be there when it happens."

Evans laughed. "Are we being silly?"

" I don't think so. I've never met two more annoying excuses for boys."

"I don't like pranks."

"Me neither."

"Maybe we should do something about it."

"Maybe."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"Oh, I am, believe me. However, my stomach is lulling my brain to sleep."

"Oh. Go to bed then."

"I think I will. We'll talk while we're redoing the Charms work."

"All right."

Megara quickly got ready for bed. As she was climbing in, she asked, "Why wouldn't the bat prank have been funny for you?"

"I'm terrified of bats."


	9. Chapter 9

AN: I'm so so sorry about the six-ish months it took. I didn't get a lot of time to write between work, the holidays, and general real life. This chapter might be all over the place because it was written a few paragraphs at a time. This story will be somewhere between fifteen and twenty chapters.

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><p>November began with a thunderstorm while they were on their way to Herbology. Professor Sprout had to magically increase the volume of her voice to be heard over the rain and hail battering the roof of the greenhouse. Megara listened half-heartedly as she glanced out the window. It wasn't the first thunderstorm to happen; both September and October had been littered with them. They had a two day break from them, and Megara wished it was longer. They hadn't taken flying lessons yet because of the rain; the first years were anxious to get on a broom. Megara had never flown before—it wasn't something a proper lady did—and she was desperate to learn, but it seemed it wouldn't come true now.<p>

Evans apparently noticed her forlorn, longing expression. "Don't worry," she said when the lecture was over and they were standing over their plants. "The rain can't last forever."

"It'll be snowing soon."

"Probably not until December."

"So we won't get flying lessons until March then."

"Oh, stop it. It's not the end of the world. We'll get them, even if they are in March."

"How did you know I was thinking about flying anyway?"

"You're wearing the same expression you always wear when you read the postponement announcement."

000

Megara spent the better part of a week hammering out details concerning their desired attempts to stop the pranks. They even had a piece of parchment they charmed so only they could read that held a pact of sorts. They titled it Pact Hate for their hatred of the boys and their mutual agreement to not be friends. There wasn't much on there just yet; it was mainly disturbingly gruesome ways to murder the two, ways that no two eleven year old girls should know about or think about. They didn't know exactly how to stop them or how to steal parchments or eavesdrop on conversations, so they settled for telling themselves they would stop them if they could.

Megara was putting the finishing touches on some of her own ideas when Evans entered their dorm. "I have excellent news for you."

"You've finally thought up an idea to stop Black and Potter?"

"No," Evans said cheerfully. "Flying lessons are tomorrow."

"Really?"

"There's a notice on the board downstairs. The rain's stopped, so they'll do it as soon as possible in case it starts again."

"Thank Merlin."

"What are you writing?"

"Oh, some lovely new disgusting murder ideas. You know, if someone finds this, they'll think we're very disturbed."

"No one's going to find it. Besides, we're not acting on them. Revenge fantasies are common. It's a way of coping with anger. A good way. It's better than bashing their heads in with a candlestick."

"I fail to see how cutting them open with forks and feeding them to vultures is a good way of coping with anger."

"I'm not actually going to do it, Megara. I don't want to face the mess any more than you do."

"Did your parents raise you like this?"

"Good God, no. They'd be horrified. Yours?"

"They'd lock me up in St. Mungo's."

"St. Mungo's?"

"The hospital."

"Ah." Evans dropped on her bed. "Have you ever flown before?"

"No. Would I be this excited if I had?"

"I don't know. Possibly. It sounds exciting. Potter's certainly going on and on about it, and he says he's been flying for ages."

"You're listening to James Potter?" Megara asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Why?"

"I was trying to eavesdrop on him and Black. They keep talking about Dungbombs—"

"Oh, Good Merlin. I thought that was on the list of banned items by the caretaker?" she added. Then a thought occurred to her. "If we let it slip that they have some, do you think McGonagall or Filch will check for them?"

"Maybe. The best we can do is try."

"Let's do it before dinner."

000

They were both worried it wouldn't work, but it turned out to be relatively easy. They passed McGonagall on their way to dinner and immediately began talking about how Potter and Black were talking about the Dungbombs and instantly, McGonagall went off to search for them. The pair were actually carrying some with them and Megara loitered around with Evans to hear them get yelled at and sentenced to a week's worth detentions. McGonagall even pushed them up the stairs and back towards Gryffindor tower to see how many they actually had.

Evans burst out laughing. "Oh my God, did you see their faces? It must be the first time they've been caught before they had a chance to do anything."

"That was satisfying," Megara agreed.

"I don't know what your problem is," Mena said as she and Lucy walked up behind them. "James and Sirius are funny."

"I know you think that," Evans said diplomatically, "and I'm sorry, but Megara and I don't agree."

Mena gave Megara a look that told her just how much she thought her opinion meant. Lucy was relatively nice to Megara, but Mena hadn't warmed up to her. And it was never as clear as it was now.

"Dungbombs are disgusting," Lucy offered tentatively. "I really can't say I'm sorry they've gotten theirs confiscated."

Mena sneered. Megara had to admit her sneer was excellent.

000

The morning of their flying lessons dawned bright and sunny. Megara almost danced as she got dressed. Excitement was running high through her veins. Lucy was laughing, and Megara had the feeling she was laughing at her, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Mena was watching her with barely concealed disgust, and Evans was trying to smile but it looked pinched. Lucy turned her attention to the redhead. "What's wrong?"

"Just a bit nervous, that's all." But Megara didn't think "a bit nervous" covered the unnatural paleness of the other girl's cheeks.

"Madam Hooch is supposedly a very good teacher," Mena said quietly. "She's not going to let anything happen to you. Besides, magic can heal most things quickly. If you break a bone, it'll be healed in five seconds or less."

Evans smiled gratefully. They all grabbed their robes and walked down the stairs in a row, with Lucy and Evans between Megara and Mena. An gentle autumn breeze filtered through the trees. Madam Hooch was standing on the Quidditch Pitch, two rows of broomsticks on either side of her. The Hufflepuffs were already there, as were Remus, Peter, and Dante.

Madam Hooch glanced around. "We have two more, don't we?"

Remus, trembling in the way he always did around teachers, stepped forward. "They're arranging a detention with Professor McGonagall."

Evans caught Megara's eye and they both scowled.

"Oh, a pair of troublemakers," Madam Hooch said, sounding resigned. "We'll give them five minutes."

One minute into the wait, Megara began bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, earning some strange looks. Two minutes in, she was jumping up and down in place and had attracted the attention of everyone on the pitch. Three minutes in, she realised this. She quit moving abruptly and lowered her head, feeling heat bloom across her cheeks. Four minutes in, Black and Potter skidded to a stop next to the last two brooms. The moment they stopped, Madam Hooch began to give instructions.

"Stand on the left side of your broom." A few people moved. "Stick your right hand over the broom and say, 'UP!'" She demonstrated as she spoke.

Potter, Black, and a blonde Hufflepuff boy were the only one who got their brooms up. "Try again," Madam Hooch said. The second time, three Hufflepuffs and Lucy got their brooms up. By the fifth, everyone had gotten their brooms up, although Megara was sure that one of the Hufflepuff girls reached down and picked hers up when Madam Hooch wasn't looking.

"Good. Now, when you mount your broom, you want to be slightly closer to the top of the handle so the broom can be balanced."

The instructions went on for a little while longer, and Megara began to vibrate with anticipation and nervousness. Nausea settled into her stomach, mixing in with the butterflies, and her head felt light with all the emotions running through her. It was ridiculous, really, because it was just flying, and it was something she'd wanted to do for so long but now that she was going to try it, she was terrified. Of falling, of making a fool out of herself, of not liking it after all.

Her fear, though, she noticed, was not as great as Lily Evans' fear. The redhead was shaking, her face a mask of stark fear and her knuckles painfully white from her grip. Without thinking, Megara reached out and squeezed the other girl's arm reassuringly. Evans gave her a tense smile and turned her attention back to Madam Hooch, who was winding down her speech. She raised her whistle to her lips, and everyone tensed in anticipation and fear. The mix was an oddly thrilling one.

The whistle sounded. They all kicked off in unison and hovered over the ground. Megara clutched at her broom until her knuckles turned white. She glanced at the ground and wondered how bad a fall three feet above the ground would be. Suddenly, flying didn't seem so fun.

Then Potter and Black went shooting up and they swirled around together in the sky. Megara's jaw dropped as they flew higher and higher and her heart began to pound crazily. She touched back down at Madam Hooch's command with the rest of them and promptly slid off the broom. Evans cast her a look.

"I think I may have a small fear of heights," Megara said as calmly as she could.

"Wouldn't that be something you'd already know?"

"I've never been high up before. Not even on a staircase. I was floated down by house elves. And their magic doesn't usually allow for mistakes. And... I really never left my room. There was never a need to. Everything I could downstairs could easily happen upstairs as well."

"Is this why on the stairs you always walk in the middle?"

"Yes, but it's not that bad on the stairs. It's always crowded. I never really thought about it. I was just afraid of falling off or losing my balance when they moved. But there's so many things that can go wrong on a broom... I can't believe I've never thought about it before."

The rest of the Gryffindors, save Potter and Black, who were still being angrily chased by Madam Hooch, joined the conversation. Peter was, surprisingly, the calmest. Megara turned to the boy in shock. Usually, he was the first one scared of everything. She had no idea why he was in Gryffindor; the Sorting Hat must have seen something deep down in his head to place here.

"I've been flying for years," he said. "It's really not that bad. You've got to get a good grip on the broom. That's the secret. And don't pay too much attention to the ground unless you have a good reason."

"That sounds sensible," Mena said.

Dante said, "Last time I rode a broom I knocked into a tree because I was too busy staring at the ground and wondering how much it would hurt if I fell, so I agree with Peter too. If you're playing Quidditch or someone's throwing spells at you, you can pay attention to the ground."

"Why would someone be throwing spells at you from the ground?"

"My dad said one of the Quidditch captains used to do that to test his team's reflexes."

"That's terrible."

"Oh, Madam Hooch caught up with them," Remus said with a grimace.

"She doesn't look very happy."

"Murderous is the word I would use," Lily said.

"All of you, back to the castle! I'll let you know when we'll continue this lesson!" Madam Hooch shouted, her face red and her eyes spitting fire. She had Potter and Black by their ears, both of them wincing but thankfully staying silent. When McGonagall did the same thing, they tried to further provoke her.

Megara hurried to the castle with the rest of the group, no one willing to stay within the shadow of the professor's wrath any longer than necessary. When they entered the doors, though, Evans stopped her and waited until the rest of the group was several steps ahead of them to start moving.

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy flying."

Megara shrugged, ignoring how unladylike it was. "Maybe next time it will be better."

"Maybe."

"What did you think of it?"

"It's... nice. I wasn't in the air long enough to tell you more."

Megara nodded her agreement. "Maybe it was just Potter and Black going so high that triggered that reaction."

"Maybe."

"I'm going to just decide next time."

"Good idea."

000

The next time came two days later. Potter and Black were serving two weeks worth of detention and were absent from the lesson. They were also banned from trying out for the Quidditch team next year. McGonagall hadn't taken kindly to their inability to behave with Madam Hooch. And they most likely antagonised her further for her to punish them months in advance. Megara knew Potter, at least, wanted to try out for the team.

Luckily, Megara did not, so she was perfectly accepting of the fact things did not get better the next lesson. She touched the ground before Madam Hooch told them to and spent the rest of the lesson trying to gain the courage to get back on. She heard a few of the Hufflepuffs snicker at her for this, but she glared them into silence.

"I really wanted to be able to fly," she complained as she trudged through the castle with Evans. "That was the one thing I thought I could do."

"We still have one more lesson."

"I'm not getting on that broom."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Notes: It has been nearly two years and for that I am very sorry. I actually forgot about this story, seeing as I hardly spend much time in the Harry Potter fandom anymore. (And after Rowling's comment about Ron and Hermione, I can't say I'm thrilled with the HP fandom. Get over yourselves, the books have already been written. There's fanfiction out there for you if you don't like anything). Without further ado, chapter ten. Let's see if I can just finish this, shall we? I haven't finished a long story in forever.

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><p>Failures at flying and some basic spells aside, Megara was enjoying herself at Hogwarts. Classes were getting easier and better, Lucy was friendly to her, and she and Evans managed to stop six different pranks by winter holidays. Black was amused by their antics, applauding them on their ability to eavesdrop and scheme, and Megara wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not but she was grateful he was taking it in stride. Potter certainly wasn't. He raged for days afterwards, called Evans a misshapen carrot, and dumped a bottle of itching powder over Megara's head with McGonagall in sight in a startling display of stupidity. The only reason he wouldn't serve detention was because at that point he didn't have a free night for the rest of the year, and Dumbledore informed them that Hogwarts policy was not to carry over any detentions into the next school year. McGonagall hadn't looked happy about that.<p>

Their antics were still considered funny by most, but she could see it wearing down the teachers. No amount of punishment seemed to do anything. McGonagall had even threatened to take away their wands when they were not in class, and though she hadn't yet, Megara felt it was only a matter of time. If McGonagall were headmistress she would have expelled them already. Of course, Black informed her when he "happened to overhear" her conversation with Evans, if someone as stern as McGonagall were head of the school, they certainly wouldn't risk expulsion by eagerly attaching their names.

Winter holidays came in a flurry of snow. The Davies family didn't celebrate Christmas, but Megara went home anyway at her mother's bidding. A house elf picked her up at the station. The inside of her home was cold and still, like no one had been there for ages. And maybe they hadn't—her father had his business trips and her mother her spa retreats.

Megara walked the staircase in her family home for the first time. It was a strange experience. Her parents always worried about her walking it for some reason, and the rare times she was taken downstairs, a house elf floated her down. She realized with a start the only times she was taken downstairs was when having tea with another pureblood family. During those times, she was dressed up in the best robes with her hair and makeup done. Heels always completed the look. Megara was fairly sure not sullying her clothes was the biggest reason she never took the stairs.

It all seemed so stupid, she thought. Who cared if she ripped the hem of her dress or snapped off a heel? Magic could fix those things in an instant. A good pureblood daughter looked perfect and presentable at all times, but she couldn't believe they would leave her to stay in her room all the time just to avoid dressing her up. Or maybe they didn't want her around? Her mother never seemed to home except when she was hosting tea, and her father was never home at all, it felt like.

Megara directed the house elf to just drop her trunk in the middle of the room. She sat on her bed and wondered what it would be like if she had been Sorted into Slytherin. She couldn't really imagine it, since most of them seemed so unpleasant, but she thought if she was one, she would be still be happy. Or misinformed and deluded, if one listened to Sirius Black. But whichever, she would not be sitting here wondering if her parents loved her or if they didn't know how or if they would laugh at the idea of love. Six months ago, she would have told anyone that her parents loved her, and they showed it by wanting her to make a good marriage and be secure in life. Now she wasn't so sure.

On the train, Evans had asked what sort of jobs there were in the magical world. They'd been sitting with Potter, Black, Remus, Peter, and Lucy. Mena stayed at Hogwarts. They burst out into a huge discussion of jobs, with Potter adding most of the Ministry jobs to the list, and Megara found herself wondering what it would be like to have. She never worked a day in her life, not unless you counted school, but she imagined it would be satisfying. But she wouldn't have a job. She would get married. She knew her father was already hunting down suitable heirs to consider. Sixteen would be the year her arranged marriage was announced. She wouldn't have any choice or any say, not unless she managed to get someone even better.

Megara sighed and kicked off her shoes. The house elf reappeared, informed her her parents would not return tonight, and asked her when she'd like dinner. She wasn't very hungry. She felt ill, mostly, thoughts and stomach jumbled with things she didn't dare say aloud. She told the house elf to bring her some food after she showered.

The hot water did nothing to soothe her. Doubts crept up on her, making her dizzy with confusion. She wanted to throw up, but she didn't think she actually would. The steam was making her even sicker. She shut off the shower and stepped into the coolness of her room. The air made her shiver but her mind felt clearer.

Dinner was a simple affair by her parents' standards, but then they weren't here. Megara managed to choke most of her food down, and she drunk three cups of tea and two goblets of pumpkin juice. Why she was so thirsty, she didn't know. She even asked the house elf to run a diagnostic spell over her. When it came up with nothing twice, she told him maybe she was just tired and went to bed.

000

Sleep hadn't solved anything. Not that she had slept much. Drinking too much before she went to bed had been a bad idea. But the dizziness was gone and she felt strangely numb in the aftermath. There were no answers to her questions, but that was fine by her. She didn't want to know them.

She asked for tea and toast for breakfast and set about doing her homework. There wasn't that much. Slughorn assigned them a short essay on the theory behind potion making. She didn't think they covered it and she had a hard time making sense of it. It didn't help her eyes kept closing. Theory wasn't interesting to study in the slightest. She asked for more food and kept reading through it. Two hours later, she couldn't say she understood.

By the time she threw down her book, her mother was home. Megara walked down the corridor to the steps of the stairs and said, "Hello," tentatively.

She looked like her mother. Thin and tall with long blonde curls and eyes that looked purple in some lights. Her mother's face looked pinched. She hadn't heard Megara; she was too busy giving directions to the house elves. Megara stepped away and was on her way back to her room when her mother said her name.

Megara descended the stairs slowly. Her mother didn't stop her. She wondered why. When she was standing in front of her mother, she was immediately subjected to a long piercing stare.

"Your father has yet to find a suitable school."

_Is he even looking anymore? I haven't had a single letter from either of you and I've written._

"Yes, mother."

"In the meantime, you may continue your education at Hogwarts. I do hope you'll find the right friends."

_Don't worry about me having friends at all. No one really cares. _

"Yes, mother."

"We will be hosting a New Year's ball. Tomorrow at noon one of the house elves will take you to get fitted. I've already chosen a gown for you."

"Yes, mother."

"Do try not to trip on the stairs."

"Yes, mother."

"I must go."

"Goodbye."

Her mother left without another word.

000

Balls, Megara discovered, were not at all fun.

They didn't happen very often and she had never attended one before, but she always thought they would be filled with dancing, music, and laughter. This one had dancing and music and little else. After a stilted dinner, during which Megara realised Sirius and Narcissa were both in attendance even though she was sitting nowhere near them, everyone moved to the ballroom, where she was forced to dance with every boy her age and up to five years older. The only bright spot of the evening was when it was Sirius's turn to dance with her, and although he had to be persuaded by his mother, she was glad he did.

She was so glad, in fact, that when he stiffly wrapped his arm around her, she blurted out, "It's so nice to see a friendly face!" and was embarrassed.

"I'm not a friendly face, Davies," he said, but he grinned.

"No one's been home. I think I should have stayed at Hogwarts."

"Lucky you," he muttered darkly.

"I just—I wanted to ask if I could have you and Narcissa over for a study session, but I know neither of you like me. I've been so lonely. I almost asked Evans for help, but I didn't want to get caught sending an owl to her. Goodness knows what my parents will do. Potions theory is very boring, do you know that?" She was talking too much, but she couldn't stop. "And I don't understand any of it. I'd never pass my classes if it wasn't for Evans."

"What potions theory?"

"Our homework."

"We had potions homework?"

"Really. Of course we had potions homework."

"I haven't touched it yet."

"I've nothing else to do while I'm here." She didn't have anything at Hogwarts with Evans home either but no one pointed that out.

"Well, I'm banned from seeing the Potters this holidays because they've been such a terrible influence, so I'll be nice and have my parents talk to yours. Narcissa will be grateful to get away from the tension on her house."

"How is Andromeda? She looks awfully unhappy." Andromeda was standing in the corner, listening to a pompous man chatter at her. She looked remarkably calm but sad standing there in her green gown. Megara wasn't sure how she was calm—everyone was sending her glances and muttering under their breaths.

"There have been words." Black glanced over his shoulder to eye his cousin. "To be honest, I think if she keeps it quiet, everyone will just think she's being rebellious and she'll grow out of it. Some people think she's just playing him." His voice got quiet and Megara had to strain to hear him. "She told me she'll marry him when they turn seventeen."

Megara jerked in surprise then caught herself. "How long is that?" she murmured softly.

"Two years. She'll turn the summer before her seventh."

"I hope they manage it," she said, surprising them both. She didn't know where the words came from, but she continued, "I hope nothing tears them apart."

"Or worse."

"Or worse," she acknowledged.

"So," he said brightly. "Miserable time at home then?"

"Yes, and you needn't look so happy about that. It's all your fault anyway. If you hadn't told me—Now all I can do is wonder if my parents truly love me."

"Let me help you out there: they don't." His tone was dark again. She wondered how she'd ever keep up with his moods.

"That's very harsh." And possibly very true. "It would certainly seem that way," she conceded. "I wonder how you came to that conclusion though."

"With your parents? Easy. They talk about you like you're a possession. Don't make that face, mine do too. It's part of being a rich pureblood. James's parents always worry about whether or not he's happy and doing well and healthy and safe. Yours and mine, they worry about whether or not we'll embarrass them. And I'm happy to embarrass mine." He sounded angry, but about what, Megara didn't know.

This dance was long, Megara thought, and the silence that descended was too uncomfortable for the remainder of the dance. When they bowed to each other at the end, Black said softly, "I'm sorry. But that's the way it is. You want an answer, then look for it. But you won't be happy with what you find, if you're anything like me."

000

The realisation that Sirius Black was unhappy about his parents did nothing to soothe her. She always thought he wouldn't be miserable about, that he'd go to the Potters and laugh it off because that seemed his style. But then again, she can't imagine why she thought that. They were his_ parents. _Of course he didn't like it. Who would?

And of course her parents didn't love her either. It was the only conclusion she could come to and he was right—she wished she hadn't. There was nothing kind in her parents' eyes. She was a pawn in their chess game, and although Megara didn't know chess well, she knew that she would be sacrificed for whatever her parents considered the greater good. She thought their greater good would probably contain money, status, and a politician's ear. Her father always wanted to own a politician. She wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but he talked about it when he was around.

Megara sighed and crossed out the date. Just a few more days, she thought, and she'd be back with the sort of people her parents didn't want her to be with and she'd be happier. Sirius and Narcissa had come over the day after New Year's with their books and it had been nice to see two people who didn't make her feel terrible. Still, she missed Hogwarts and her classes and Evans, for some reason, and she wanted to be away from this place that masqueraded as her home.

The holidays weren't as cheerful as she thought they'd be.

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><p>Additional Author's Notes: I will finish this story if it kills me, goddammit. Also, I made some random comment about Megara never having walked on a staircase before Hogwarts at some point in the story and felt I needed to deal with it. So, random stupid reasoning. And rambly, unedited works, yay!<p> 


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